Her Story
by AndromedaMarine
Summary: It wasn't about the words. It was about the impulses. Ann/Jack, post movie.
1. Chapter 1

**Her Story by AndromedaMarine**

Less than a week ago she'd been standing in front of that horrid theater, debating with herself whether or not to go in and offer herself for money. She needed the cash and her stomach was screaming for food, but Ann's heart told her it wasn't right. Throwing down that card took her in the right direction. Feeling the small crumpled form of paper fall from her hand released that weight that'd been driving her towards the theater. She ignored the gnawing in her stomach, ignored the biting wind against her legs, ignored the clumps of well-fed rich men who winked at her as she walked past.

If Carl Denham hadn't stopped her aimless route she didn't know where she may have ended up – certainly not on the _Venture_ in the company of Jack Driscoll and Captain Englehorn. But she couldn't dwell on that now. King Kong was in the cargo hold, forcing Jack into a dead man's cabin, just up the corridor from her. She couldn't think of either beast – human or animal. Jack had been a beast, holding her back from the treachery that Carl dealt the gorilla; he was a beast for avoiding her and not trying to understand why she felt that way about Kong. She remained in her cabin until they steamed into New York Harbor, where she left without a word, even to Jack.

Less than a week ago she'd held the play he'd written for her in her hands, bewildered at why he'd do such a thing until she saw the deep emotion in his eyes. Those words were laced with something more than "Isn't it obvious?" She never would have imagined herself kissing Jack Driscoll – or, as it were, Jack Driscoll kissing her. As she walked away from the _Venture_ she was sure she felt a ripping in her heart, as if someone still on the dreaded ship had kept a part of her with him. She didn't have to guess – she knew. It wasn't Kong, no, because the animal never really held her heart. She knew it was Jack. The part of her that shredded was his play – her play. Ann Darrow wanted to turn back and be held by the playwright again, but her feet kept moving forward.

Less than a week ago Kong had captured her, causing Jack to come after the aspiring actress, and it was less than a week ago that she knew she loved both man and monster.

Standing atop the Empire State Building had been a little bit of a wake-up call. She couldn't have been with Kong even if she wanted to; which was to say that the King had only occupied a small portion of her heart. Three little letters – one word – had kept her from following the beast off the tower.

"Ann."

Ann Darrow shook her head, tears worming their way onto her cheeks.

"Ann."

She wanted to run into his arms but her feet were rooted to the floor –

"Ann."

This was _her_ story. "Jack," she breathed into his shoulder, accepting the embrace she might have fallen away from. She couldn't say anything else to him as he held her close, keeping her from certain death or heartbreak. She needed to tell her story.

While Skull Island changed everyone on the _Venture_ the cursed place affected Ann and Jack the most. Words were definitely not enough when it came to describing how she felt about Kong and Jack. But then again, it wasn't about the words.

It was about the impulses.


	2. Chapter 2

**Her Story by AndromedaMarine**

_Chapter Two_

Jack would've sworn Ann slept for a week. It felt that way; the woman hadn't had a good night's sleep since before Skull Island. He knew she had nightmares – she thrashed in her sleep, causing Jack to wrap his arms tightly around her to keep her from hurting herself and him. Sometimes screams woke him and he'd have to wake her from the nightmares to calm her, but she always fell right back asleep against him. It felt right holding her in his arms while she slept off the after-effects of the Empire State Building.

Less than two weeks ago Jack had considered jumping from the balcony of the _Venture_ to get to that rehearsal for which he was three hours late. If he had, the playwright would've lost his only chance for real, honest-to-God, true love. Instead he met the beautiful actress Ann Darrow and involuntarily fell in love. He might have hit a few bumps along the road in the form of a giant Gorilla and bloodthirsty natives on an island in the middle of uncharted waters, but it happened. And if Jack had the chance to do it all over again he wouldn't have changed a thing.

Jack lay with Ann in his arms. It was three days since the Eighth Wonder had died – three days of solid sleep for Ann. He couldn't believe she hadn't even stirred from the blackness surrounding her mind, but he knew she needed it. She needed time to push the demons away. This was her story.

"I love you," Jack whispered into her blond hair. It didn't matter to him that she was dead asleep. He had to say it for himself lest he be under the true impression that no words are needed. He remembered it was about the impulses instead. It had been an impulse that kept him from jumping off the _Venture_. It had been an impulse to write that play for her, to kiss her, to rescue her from Kong, to hold her back from Carl Denham, to go to the top of the Empire State Building and pull her away from the edge. 'Twas an impulse that made Jack embrace her fiercely and hold her so close he couldn't mistake her as real. "I love you." He drifted off to sleep wrapped protectively around Ann's small body.

Not surprisingly Jack woke first, immediately whispering the three words to her again regardless if she was listening or not. He carefully extricated himself from the sheets so to not wake Ann, and shuffled to the kitchen to make himself breakfast.

He heard her shift and groan and, as he walked to the bed, he saw her blink. "Ann," he exclaimed, rushing to the bedside and sitting so he practically hovered over her. Her eyes went wide. "It's okay, Ann. You're safe. You're with me. How're you feeling?"

"Like a cinderblock has taken up residence in my head," she replied, wincing as she heard sound for the first time in about three days. "What happened?"

Jack gave a little grin. "You made it to the elevator in the Empire State Building and then passed out. You've been asleep ever since."

"How... how long has it been? What day is it?"

"Three days." He rested his palm on her cheek, smiling at her again. "It's all over."

"And...and K-kong? He's really gone, isn't he?" Her voice was surprisingly steady considering how attached she seemed to be to the animal.

Jack nodded. "Yeah, he's gone." He gave her a quick kiss. "Breakfast? You must be hungry." He didn't want to talk about Kong, or even about Carl and the state the director had slowly been drinking himself into.

Ann agreed to breakfast, wondering how her life had become that complicated. Then she remembered – it all started in that diner.

"_Now tell me – do you happen to be a size four?"_

_She stood to walk away in a huff – away from food and a hearty meal – away from a question that sounded different that what it was. Carl explained his words and continued to tell her about filming in Singapore. No job equaled no money, and thus, no food. She took the job after learning Jack Driscoll was the author of the script. Little did she know Jack Driscoll was on board._

It was up to her where her life went. She could walk away from New York and everything, especially Jack, that reminded her of Kong. She could move from the East coast to the West; a decision that would take but a beat of the heart to make.

"Jack," she said, snapping out of her daydream. "What are we going to do?"

"Hmm? You mean now that we're practically back to normal?" He broke his gaze. "I don't know. Maybe I'll continue writing and you'll continue acting. What else is there?"

"Nothing. There's absolutely nothing. No feeling in my heart, no guilt! What's wrong with me, Jack? It's like I don't have a heart..."

Jack stood and immediately moved so he was behind her, seized her shoulders, and began to massage. "Never say that, Ann. Never. You have a heart of gold – never think otherwise. I love you, Ann. Don't forget that." He immediately remembered she hadn't actually heard him say it before, but it was so natural he couldn't stop himself. "Ever."

Ann froze when she heard him say the three little words. She reached up her hand to lay it atop his, and twisted her head so she could see him. Standing, she faced him, studying his worried eyes, reading the fear over what he'd said. "It's always been about the words," she said.

"But it's the impulse that makes the difference," he finished.

The kiss sealed every word spoken between them.

Her story, her life, would continue – and finish – with the one man she ever truly loved: Jack Driscoll.


End file.
